Situations
by Frenzied Warrior
Summary: Tony Stark and Clint Barton both had similar things marked in bold in their files. Don't play well with others, lone wolves, don't poke with a stick under any circumstance, etc, etc. Of course, when bad jokes can't bring two men together as friends, driving a car off a cliff totally can. Slight Clintasha.
1. One

**Oh, hey. So, this is my first and probably only Avengers fiction, written purely because my muse would not allow anything else to appear on my document page. Basically, it has three of my favorite things. One, Clint whumpage (which I have recently learned is in fact a word), two, Tony and Clint getting into shit together, and three, humor. A lot of this fic is just jokes I can't use in any other fandom masked minimally by an actual plot line, mostly in this first chapter. Things get a little heavier after this. This is tad shorter than my other writings, but I'm new at writing grown mens' immaturity versus teenagers' immaturity. That being said, I'd love if I could get some feedback! Reviews are lovely.**

**Disclaimer thingy: I do not own anything, specifically in this case any of Marvel's Avengers, or any modern media references that come up.**

**I am not responsible for any overwhelming immaturity that may come from Tony Stark. Actually, I am, but forget that.**

* * *

"Come on, move along, Stark." Natasha Romanoff shoved the multi-billionaire down a dark and damp hallway. Tony had been peeking curiously into a room where scientists were apparently trying to grow free-thinking watermelons or something of the sort (Tony decided the next thing on his list was to hack into SHIELD's databases again and find out just what kind of experiments they were running). SHIELD's bases were full of dark and damp hallways. Tony would have much rather been lounging in Stark Tower with Pepper, some grapes, and his best bottled friend Sam Adams, but Fury had called him to one of the bases for some mission, or whatever. He could have cared less. Unless there were baby animals involved. He was feeling a bit gushy.

Natasha led him to a hangar/garage that fit enough vehicles to take up more space than Tony's ego. Agents of all shape and form were hustling about, starting up planes and cars and something that looked suspiciously like a dune buggy.

Damn, he wanted a dune buggy.

"Hey, Jarvis." Tony spoke into his ever-present earpiece that linked him to his supercomputer. "Get me a dune buggy."

"_Right away, sir._"

Tony smiled, and then noticed Natasha staring at him with a look of combined disgust and amusement.

"So, sweetheart, I don't suppose you're going to tell me what the hell I'm doing here, huh?"

"You are to be briefed when we get there." A familiar gruff voice met Tony's ears from his other side, and he smiled widely.

"Barton's coming too? Now it's a party."

"Don't get too excited, Anthony." Clint deadpanned, moving forward and throwing a duffle into the back of an armored truck.

"Of course, of course." Tony scoffed. Natasha swung around and walked toward another car, piling bags and checking weapons.

"I mean it." Clint told him seriously. "Fury says this is a Level 7 mission. We'll be meeting Steve at the site, apparently he was already located close enough."

"Is Banner coming?" Tony asked, leaning against the car. "I've acquired a new collection of pointy objects that I want to poke him with."

When Clint didn't answer, Tony continued on his tirade of words. "Why am I here, anyway? Can't I just fly in my suit to wherever?"

"Not if you don't want to get shot out of the sky, you don't." Natasha scolded him. He was about to point out to her that his suit was_ ICBM_-_proof_, thank you very much, when she silenced him with a glare. "We've got your suit loaded in one of the cars. Fury doesn't want anyone flying. We're going on the ground."

"Well." Tony crossed his arms and pretended to be mad for a minute, and then stopped once he realized that the two agents were about as fun as rocks. At least you could throw rocks at people, and that was fun. Clint gestured to the car.

"Get in."

"You'll ride with Clint, because I really can't stand the sight of you." Natasha told him. "Try not to kill each other...or give Clint a reason to kill you. The amount paperwork would be horrifying."

"Love you too, Natasha." Tony grumbled.

"Once you reach the other base you'll meet up with the Captain and get briefed on your mission." Fury boomed, coming out of freaking nowhere and scaring Tony out of his freaking underwear. "Be careful on the way there. They'll be watching, and I wouldn't be surprised if you have to take a few out of the skies."

"Who did we piss off this time?" Tony asked. Natasha huffed as if she couldn't believe he was _so_ stupid, Fury rolled his eyes (well...eye) and Clint erupted into a fit of muffled chortles that made Tony want to knee him in the goods. Hard. "No one tells me anything anymore."

"Get in the car, Stark." Clint smirked and swung around to the driver's side, opening the door and motioning for Tony to get his ass in gear. Tony sighed, swinging open the door and piling inside. Natasha poked her head in through Clint's window.

"I'll be communicating with you over the car comm. Don't be stupid." Then she turned to Clint, just barely touching his arm and speaking in a softer tone. "Be careful."

"Always am." Clint replied, and Tony came to a few sudden realizations at once. The most important, however, erupted from his mouth.

"Wait, does this mean we don't have a radio?" He exclaimed, incredulous. Natasha rolled her eyes and stalked away while Barton gave him the death glare. "What? I need my tunes."

"Just...sit there and don't do anything, Stark." Clint instructed, pulling out of the parking space and following the procession of armored cars out onto a barren road. Truly, Tony had never seen a road so boring.

"Aye aye, Legolas," Tony murmured, and, immediately restless, turned to inspect what they were carrying in the back of the truck. "Oh, hey! My suit's in _this_ car! Your bow and arrows, too!"

"Great observation, Mr. Wizard." Clint muttered in response. "Fury said that if need be, we should have your suit close, and that you'd be able to make sense of all the weird tech stuff."

"Well, duh, I invented it." Tony tried to lean back to grab the case (he needed _something _to fiddle with), but it was too far away. He went to unbuckle his seat belt, but Barton immediately chastised him.

"Don't." He said sternly, which caused Tony to look at him with a face identical to that of a rebellious, annoying teenager.

"Who are you, my mom?" He asked. "Since when are you Mr. Stay Out of the No-Zone?"

"Just don't, Stark."

"What, you gonna give me a ticket?"

"Maybe."

"I don't ever get to do anything in this car." Tony whined, swinging around and stuffing his hands on his lap, trying to focus on being still. This worked for an all of three minutes before he spasmed, flicking his hands up to his head and down again. He pulled a pen out of his suit and searched around for a napkin, but Mr. Drive Safe was apparently Mr. Neat and Tidy as well, and he didn't find a single scrap of paper. Not even a Starbucks box. Frustrated, he turned to Barton.

"Don't talk to me."

"Oh, come on!" Tony growled. "Even commuter planes are more exciting than this! At least they have movies!"

"Let me tell you a tale, Stark." Barton replied, snark finding its way slightly into his even tone.

"Oh, goody, story time." Tony grumbled sarcastically.

"Once there was a man who talked so much, he annoyed the shit out of everyone. So another man with a pistol strapped to his leg shot him in the face. The end."

"...That wasn't a very good story."

"Surprise."

Tony sighed. "How far away is this base?"

"About three hours, twelve minutes." Barton told him with a smart-ass tone. Or at least it seemed so to Tony.

"And how long have we been driving?"

"Eighteen minutes."

"Damn." Tony muttered.

"You're telling me." Clint never took his eyes off of the road. "You're not the one stuck in a car for three hours with you. Have you ever been in a room by yourself...with yourself?"

"Why yes, Barton, I am very familiar with myself." Tony said. Barton snickered, and Tony sent him an evil glare. "You immature little bastard."

This only caused Barton to laugh a little harder, and Tony gave him the finger turning away. A moment of revenge sneaking up and slapping him, Tony turned around once more. "So, Barton. You and Romanoff?"

Clint's laughter immediately ceased, followed by a slow moving, barely noticeable, but still present blush creeping up his neck, much to Tony's satisfaction. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, you can tell me." Tony kicked up his feet on the dash, bringing his hands behind his head. "Bros to bros."

"You are not my... bro." Clint responded with a hint of disgust. "I don't have to relinquish any emotions to you. You don't have any valid emotions."

"I do too have emotions!" Tony protested. "I've loved and lost, trusted, been kicked in the ass, given charity, been greedy, thrown a party, gotten a bender. If anyone doesn't have feelings, it's you, Mr. Agent."

"I have feelings. I just don't show them."

"Why not?"

Clint sent the barest of glances at Tony before snapping his gaze back to the road. "Feelings get you killed in my line of work."

"Ah." Tony nodded, bringing his hands together. "Astute conclusion, Mr. Westin."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"That would be preferable."

"You know, I thought you couldn't die." Tony smirked, raising one eyebrow. "You always seem to weasel out of everything."

"For a genius, you're really stupid, Stark." Clint's resorted back to his deadpan again, not looking at Tony.

"Thanks, gorgeous." Tony moved to sling his arm around Clint, but Barton pushed him off angrily.

Suddenly the radio began to spurt and sputter to life, a female voice leaking out of the speakers. "_Clint, turn left onto the dirt road three miles ahead. Hill just reported an ambush on the main road_."

Clint reached forward and pressed the audio button on the radio. "Got it, Tasha."

"_Stark still being an ass_?" Natasha asked.

"I dropped him five miles back."

"_Did his ego block your view?"_

"What do you guys say about me when I'm _not_ around?" Tony barked.

"_Hang in there, Clint_."

"I'll try." Clint feigned an exasperated voice, sending a smirk in Tony's direction. Tony glared and peered out the window, marveling at the plainness of the fields and occasional steep, rocky cliffs leading down to more plain fields and dying trees.

"Soo... _Tasha_."

"Shut up."

"Hey, Cupid, you got any snacks?" Tony inquired.

"No, and don't call me Cupid."

"Why not? I've heard Romanoff call you Cupid before, Cupid."

"Stop that. It's different."

"'Cause you're in luuurrrvvve." Tony taunted, tilting his head up childishly. Barton sighed. Any longer with this and Stark was going to be singing the playground kissing in a tree song.

"Love is trivial, and I do not partake in it."

"Come on, Barton, denial isn't just a river in Egypt!"

"When you're done being eleven, we've got a mission to get to."

"...You don't even have any Nilla wafers or something?"

"No, I do not have any snacks. I'm not hungry."

Tony pondered this, and then shelved it aside. "How does one choose not to love, anyhow?"

"I don't love anymore." Clint cursed himself. In four words he'd already let more slip than he'd want the egocentric man to know.

"Who are you, Voldemort?"

"I have self-control, Stark. Something it seems that you're lacking."

"I think you are Voldemort. Is that why you never die?" Tony teased.

"I can't remember a time when you weren't talking."

"So which one of your seven souls doesn't love Romanoff?" asked Tony.

"I don't have to answer to you, Stark." Clint groaned, now really exasperated. Talking with Tony was exhausting. How did Bruce stand hours with this man in a laboratory?

"Come on. She's hot. You can't tell me that you don't want to have sex with her."

"Shut up, Tony."

"...Have you even ever had sex?"

"Yes."

"...With women?"

"_Yes_, Tony!"

Tony made a _tsk_ noise, leaning forward. "How often? You seem stressed."

"Goddamnit, Stark!" Clint roared, slamming his palm on the steering wheel. Somehow, he never took his eyes off of the road.

"Me, I like to keep myself perfectly healthy." Tony added, nodding in satisfaction at his own innuendoes. He felt like he was a 15-year old college freshman again. "Although sometimes a trip to the doctor _is_ in order-"

"Shut up." Clint growled, dragging a hand down his face. "You...just...shut up, Stark."

"No, really, I can prove it! Here, let me call Banner, I'm sure he's had enough of me and Pepper-"

An eruption from the radio cut Tony short, and Clint leaned forward ever so slightly to catch the tirade of shouts coming from the other end. The car about twenty feet in front of them swerved, and then righted itself. "_Damn it! They set up an ambush on this road, too! We'll have to take them; Clint, do you have your bow?"_

"Stark, get my bow." Clint echoed the command, eyes locked on what was unfolding, seen only to his seemingly superhuman eyes.

"Can I unbuckle my seat belt now, Mommy?"

"Just do it!"

Tony reached across himself and unbuckled the tether restraining him to his seat. He stuck his arm out behind him and turned to try to grasp the bow in his hands, but it was lodged between his suitcase the the back seat. "That is just inconvenient..."

"_Hawkeye, get up to the hill and attack enemy forces." _A stern voice, yet not Natasha's because it was male, boomed through the comm system.

"Going now."

Tony lurched forward as Clint veered sharply off of the road and up a steep climb. He tumbled into the back head first, and bounced around until Barton finished climbing and zoomed ahead on more or less level ground. Tony grabbed hold of the bow, yanking it harshly from its spot, and grasped the quiver as Clint shouted something.

"Who are we fighting?" Tony yelled, furious that he didn't know something. There was no file to read, no computer to hack. Only an uncooperative Clint Barton who was currently trying to avoid smashing into a rock. Gunfire sounded off, startling Tony just a little bit. He was used to gunfire.

"Get down!" Clint roared, swerving again and sending Tony to the floor. He immediately raised himself up again and launched over the separator, sprawling into the passenger seat. Clint turned to him, a mixture of anger, frustration, and determination etched across his face. "I told you to get down!"

"Didn't tell me to stay down!" Tony shouted back, having trouble hearing over the sheer amount of gunfire. Clint was driving them along a narrow path, if one could call it that, with drops on either side. One led to the line of armored trucks that had stopped, a machine gun propped up on each and firing toward another set of cars, which were blocking the street and firing their own arms at SHIELD. The other dropped into something of a forest, or dried up swampland, or something. "I got your arrows, Cupid. Time to make some love!"

Clint kept driving, set on a little ridge at the end of the path where he could take out some of the forces. He ducked a bit as the driver side window was shot out. "Tony, you might want to get your suit." He shouted. "I have a feeling that-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as Tony's face was sprayed with blood.

* * *

**Even review buttons need to eat too.**


	2. Two

**Hey, guys. Hey, guys. Guess what? I found out that when you read a fanfiction, you can change the _font._ Are there any fancy people who read it in Times New Roman? I was so surprised.**

**BUT HOLY FUDGING SHIZNIT!**

**I...I...I'm in shock. Shock shock shock because OH MY GOD. AAggggghhhhhh. You guys...are just _awesome_. I got 100 alerts for this story for one chapter. ONE HUNDRED ALERTS. I had like a illegitimate happiness-induced seizure. I mean...27 reviews? 32 favorites? I'm literally going to start crying here. I had no idea that people would like my story so much. I want to thank all of you from the very very bottom of my very very heart because I'm so very very thankful. Very.**

**I tried replying to a bunch of you, but I didn't get everyone (-sob-) because I was away for the weekend, but I am so very thankful to each and every one of you, whether you took the time to review or just showed your interest by alerting. I love you all. Thanks for making my Mondays a day that I can look forward to for once. :) I hope the feeling is mutual. Please enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Tony's eyes flashed closed as he felt a wet, drippy substance splash across his face and down his neck and torso, splattering across his suit as well. There wasn't a lot of it, but it had gone everywhere. Tony took a moment to think _ew_ with a disgusted look on his face before he wiped blindly and then set to creaking open his eyes. A quick analysis told him that the blood wasn't his; he didn't feel any different than before, and there wasn't that weird, inconvenient draft thing or whatever that he could feel when part of his skin was split open. No, it wasn't his blood. Which meant it could only be one other person's.

Tony broke open his eyelids.

Clint was staring out of the windshield with a mixture of surprise and blankness, his hands the slightest bit slack on the steering wheel. He wasn't moving, but his foot was still floored on the gas pedal, because their car was still approaching the end of their path at an uncomfortable rate. The whole right side of his head was red, the center of it being a gory, drippy mess where his ear used to be. For a minute Stark was terrified that Barton was dead, but then the injured man in question slowly blinked his eyes. Tony realized that the bullet hadn't lodged itself in Barton's skull, rather it had ripped across the side of it, and taken a chunk of his right ear with it. Tony knew that about twenty bells had to pin-balling their noisy asses around in Clint's brain, but the man was going to drive the freaking car off a cliff. He was surprised he had kept it relatively straight so far.

"Clint!" Tony cried, grabbing the handle on the side of the door. More gunshots shattered the windshield (Tony was going to have a talk with them about an investment in some bulletproof glass), and he hissed as glass lodged itself in his pants and sleeves. He ripped a shard out of his cheek before grabbing Clint's arm. "Barton!"

"Yeah." Clint's mouth barely moved, his eyes still wide as he stared straight ahead. "Yeah."

"Barton, I know you just got shot, but we need to stop the damn car!" Tony roared. "I'll grab my suitcase, my suit, just stop the car and get down!"

Clint turned his head toward Tony, only confusion in his eyes. "Tony." He nearly whispered. The car kept speeding along. Tony cursed. The man had been shot in the head, he should have been unconscious, but he wasn't. Clint's pain tolerance might have been severely high, but even he couldn't ignore the effects of shock. He blinked, seeming to see things a bit clearer. "Damn."

"Clint, the road!" Tony shouted.

Clint blinked back forward and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His eyelids drooped a bit, but he managed to release a bit of force on the accelerator. Tony cussed more when he saw men with mean-looking guns clamber up the rocks and position themselves at the point Clint was supposed to stop at. Tony's eyes widened.

"Barton! Barton, they've got a rocket launcher, Barton!"

Clint blinked once more, either not understanding the dire situation in front of them or not seeing it at all. "Hey, Tony." He rasped. He chuckled a bit, his lips turning up, but they immediately fell again. "Do you think...anyone will care if I just took a...nap?"

Before Tony could process what he had said Clint's head dropped, his body slumping forward onto the steering wheel just as one of the big men on the rocks raised the rocket launcher and fired. The car swerved severely, and Tony screamed a manly scream as it toppled over the side of the path and fell toward the plain below.

His world shattered, shook, and flipped topside as the car fell, fell, and kept falling. It was like the demented roller coaster from hell, or New Jersey. A corner of the hood crumpled as it slammed into rocks, and the car flipped diagonally, the top hitting and rolling. Tony's neck snapped forward and back again into the headrest. Though Tony was attempting to protect himself, bracing his body and gripping the sides of the car, Clint flopped around like a dead fish, his seat belt the only thing keeping him inside the vehicle. A particularly long drop sent Barton's head slamming into the steering wheel, and Tony's teeth practically went through his tongue. Stark closed his eyes as nausea ripped through him, kept screaming even though he couldn't hear it anymore.

Then finally, thankfully, joltingly, it all stopped. One second Tony was riding the train to perdition, and the next he wasn't.

"Jesus." Tony spat out a globule of blood from his mouth, wringing his hair with his hands. It dawned on him that their car had actually landed right-side up, and he let out a string of profanities in relief. "Jesus _fudging_ Christ." Only he didn't say fudging.

He was about to climb out of the car and puke, but then he realized that the car itself really wasn't on its wheels, it just wasn't upside down, either. It was pitched on its side, Tony's side up facing the open air. Stark pried his arm away from its clamped position between his body and the midsection of the car, then saw Clint, his motionless body pressed up limply against the driver side door. The shot-out window left shards of glass in Clint's shirt, and even though nothing had pierced his Kevlar vest, he hadn't been wearing a helmet. Half of Barton's body was hanging out of the window and propped against a rock that was quickly becoming painted red, while the rest of him was tangled in his seat belt. Tony dazedly looked to his other side, _up_, and saw an open expanse of perfectly blue sky.

His door wasn't there anymore. How peculiar.

Tony swallowed thickly, closing his eyes shut tight before peeling them open again. A few glances around told him that the radio was shot (there was Hawkeye's bow sticking through it, of course neither of them could work), his suitcase was gone, and he had definitely either sprained or broken his left wrist. He tried moving it. _Shit. _Yep, broken.

"Barton." Tony broke out a bark, surprised at how strong his voice was. Maybe he could call for help. _Or bring the enemy right down._ No, it was better for them to think they were dead. They had to get out of the car, though. Tony glanced at the hood of the car, where the engine resided, and cursed yet again when he found it was smoking thickly. It could blow at any moment. They really needed to get out of the car. "Clint." He didn't stir. Tony took a different approach. "Barton! Wake the hell up, you humorless shit!"

Nothing.

"Oh, goddamnit." Tony moaned, dragging his right hand down his face. He nearly pulled out a bit of his hair before he could breathe and bring himself down to a calm just below hyperventilation. "Damn it, _Barton!_"

Tony maneuvered himself painfully so that he could unbuckle his seat belt, pressing the little red button as hard as he could manage. It whipped back, smacking him a bit comically across the face, but that was just a minor annoyance. Tony heaved a little bit, his breath catching, before hauling himself over the midsection, taking advantage of gravity. He unbuckled Barton's seat belt with difficulty, and then smacked him on the arm.

"Wake up."

Tony could practically feel Barton's mind fighting him. Obstinate bastard.

He quickly realized that he wouldn't be able to pull Clint up all the way to the topside of the car. Barton had to be at least a solid one hundred-eighty pounds of pure muscle, and Tony probably couldn't have lifted him while he was unconscious on a good day, let alone one when his wrist was broken. Maybe if he found his suit, he could lift the car off of Clint...but he was still halfway _in_ the car. Ugh. He spat out some more blood from his bloody mouth. Gross.

Sighing heavily, Tony reached up with his right hand, gripping the outer shell of the car and using his legs to stand shakily on the midsection. Tony brought his torso slowly out of the vehicle into the open air, gasping in a breath. He hadn't realized how much the smell of blood really stunk. He swung his legs up and crouched on the side of the car, panting. Quickly Tony scooted across the car and dropped to the ground on Clint's side, hissing as his wrist shifted. There was a good two foot gap between the shell and the rocky ground, and Tony knelt down, grasping Clint's bloody vest in his hand.

"Damn it, Clint." Tony moaned. "You totally owe me a new arm."

Clint let out a groan as Tony pried him from the wreckage, eyeing the smoking vehicle warily. He had to get him away and wrap his head so he didn't bleed out. Then, he'd search Clint's vest for a cell phone. Romanoff had to be number one on his speed dial, anyhow. Clint turned his head up at Tony and peeled open his eyes, which were cloudy and unfocused. Tony stood and dragged Clint twenty feet from the wreckage before he reached a large fallen tree, positioning the SHIELD agent on the other side of it, facing away from the wreckage in case it decided to blow its top. Clint blinked dazedly up at Tony, who was shrugging off his jacket and tie. Tony grimaced at how Clint's right pupil was blown up to an unnatural size.

"Comin' on to me, Stark?" Clint murmured, and Tony was impressed on how coherent he seemed to be, even though he was obviously disoriented. His words barely slurred. "That's...sexual assault, there."

Stark scoffed, ripping the sleeves off of his jacket and tearing one into strips, folding the other into a pad. "You wish, Herr Hawky. You just conked your head really hard after getting shot, and your lover Romanoff isn't here to cuddle you. That being said, how are you like...not in a coma?"

Barton blinked at him and then made a scoff of his own, trying to shift himself before squeezing his eyes shut in pain. "Not my first concussion, Stark."

"Because that's totally a valid reason for not being dead. See? You don't die, Tom Riddle."

Barton opened his eyes so that they were slits. "Hey, Tony." he rasped.

"What?"

"Shut up."

"Smooth, Barton." Tony shook his head. "Here, think you can sit up? You're bleeding all over the place."

Clint struggled up into a sitting position, trying to mask the pain. He ignored all evidence of the trembling in his hand as he brought it up to the right side of his head. His nimble fingers felt for the top of his ear, only to find a mess of flesh and blood. Barton's face paled visibly, and he leaned over to promptly puke in the dried grass. Tony made a face, and then pressed his wadded up sleeve against the side of Clint's head, wrapping the strips around his skull and tying them tightly. Clint shuddered and leaned back against the tree.

"Where are we?" He mumbled. Tony pulled his lips to one side.

"You got shot and drove us off a cliff, Cupid."

"Oh." Clint scrunched his face up. "Sorry."

"Yeah, 'sorry' doesn't cut it, Hawky." Tony grumbled. Clint peered up at him.

"What happened to your face?" He asked, pressing one palm to his own temple. Tony brought a hand up to his face, discovering a split lip and a small gash on his cheekbone that itself was bleeding pretty rapidly. He pressed his tie to it, murmuring under his breath about Clint having to buy him a new one because it was _Versaci_, damn it, and he only had like twenty of those things.

"Not a problem. Just slightly less amazingly handsome than usual."

"Right." Clint smirked. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back toward the sky. "Tony...where's Tasha?"

"Romanoff?" Tony whipped his head back and forth to try to clear it. "She's up on the right side of this cliff, fighting bad guys."

Clint swallowed thickly. "So call her."

"Sorry, I haven't had _Natasha_ on my contacts list since she was Miss Rushman, and something tells me she wouldn't love to hear from me on her personal phone."

Barton broke a weak smile, raising his hand to peel back part of shirt and revealing a small pin with a speech button and a microphone. "Here, use this."

"Dude, she gave you a Life Alert?" Tony asked, astonished. "That's so creepily convenient!"

Clint chuckled, and Tony came closer as he feebly pressed the button on the communicator. "Nat." he choked, and coughed wetly to clear his voice. "Nat."

"_Clint!" _Natasha exclaimed, her voice mewling out from a tiny speaker in the pin. Tony was impressed. He made a mental note to make those more efficient and more stylish once he got back to the Tower. "_Where the hell are you? What happened?"_

"Romanoff, we've fallen and we can't get up!" Tony chuckled. Clint glared at him, but somehow, with blood dripping down between his eyebrows and the side of his nose, he didn't look as threatening as usual. Clint coughed again, which made Natasha erupt in a bout of questions. "Look, Natasha, Clint got shot and we drove off a cliff away from the fight or whatever was going on there. We need help."

"_Is Clint okay?"_

"Yeah, love you too, Natasha." Tony muttered. "He's conscious, at least right now. Hit his head pretty good, though, and I broke my wrist. I don't know if there is anything else wrong with him, but I can't find my suitcase, it fell out of the car."

"_His bow?"_

"Taking residence in our radio."

"_Great. That's just great. Just sit tight, and I'll be down momentarily. Don't let Clint fall asleep, Stark."_

"Your faith in me is astounding, Romanoff." Tony sneered. "Get your fiery ass down here before I get bored."

Clint shakily pressed the button again and let his hand fall heavily. "She likes to keep in touch."

"I can tell."

Tony struggled to his feet and glanced around, walking with a slight limp only a few feet in each direction. Clint eyed him groggily.

"What're you doing?" He asked tiredly.

"Looking for my suit." Tony replied without looking at him. "Despite how much I might detest her at times, I genuinely fear your girlfriend's wrath, and therefore will not leave your side with the fear that you should pass out just to spite me. In this boring surrounding of yellow and pale green, my hot rod red suitcase must be able to stand out enough for me to retrieve it without searching for a horribly long amount of time in which you could pass out."

Clint made a disgusted face, and shook his head slightly. He clenched a fist. "Go find your suit, Stark. I'll be fine."

"I can't take that risk, Barton." Tony mused. "I'd rather not be castrated unsedated with a rusted old ice cream scoop."

"Gross." Barton moaned, throwing an arm over his bloody face. "I didn't need that image, Stark."

"Well you got it anyway." He replied. Suddenly he jumped, satisfaction crossing his face. "Barton! Hey, I see my suit! Stay awake for like thirty seconds more, okay?" Clint nodded slightly, and Tony took off as fast as he possibly could up the rocky slope. A few choice profane words and a few minutes later Tony was back with his suitcase...or what used to be his suitcase. It had cracked open on impact, and seemed to have been ran over with the car more than once. Although it wasn't broken-it was nearly impossible to break it, and a few rocks wouldn't do the trick-, a few sparks were issuing from the lower part of it. Tony moaned in frustration, crashing down to the ground.

"I don't suppose you have a few dozen tools?" Tony asked half-heartedly, pulling at his hair. Clint shook his head soundlessly, sending rockets through his brain. Tony sighed. "Well, we won't be flying out of here anytime soon."

Clint blinked, his voice sounding tired. "Why are we flying?"

Tony stared at him and then tugged at his locks again. "You-you're a bucket of fun, you know that? This is just a great time, really." He looked at Barton, who was slowly transitioning between blinking and staring at him with a glossy look in his eyes. His eyelids started to droop, but Tony was there, and he was equipped with his most powerful weapon; his mouth. "No, no, no, no, no, Barton, come on, open those big blues for me. Castration, remember the castration! Rusty spoons no good for Tony. Sleep-time no good for Barton. Keep those eyes open, Cupid."

"Told you," Clint heaved, squeezing his eyes shut farther before cracking them open. "Don't call me Cupid."

"Sorry, Cupid, it's a bit too late for that, I've already called you that at least seven times and I like it. Just stay awake, okay? Romanoff will be here soon."

"Really?" Clint's voice suddenly sounded very childish. Tony pulled a face. He didn't _do_ children.

"Really." He forced out.

"Promise?" Barton turned his head fitfully. Tony couldn't hide his slight disgust now, and swallowed visibly.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, I promise."

Barton snorted, lips turning up in a smile, voice back to normal. "Bitch."

"You bastard!" Tony exclaimed, whipping back. "You slimy, conniving bastard!"

Clint laughed huskily, smiling even though it had to hurt like shit. "It's a gift."

"Gift, my ass." Tony mumbled. "You better hope that Romanoff gets down here soon, or else I'm going to pack up and leave you here for the wolves, do you hear me, Barton? _For the wolves._ And next time you come by looking for food I will not give you a single morsel-hey, look! Romanoff to the rescue!"

Clint shakily turned himself around to peer up the slope, his elbow keeping him steady on the fallen tree trunk. He squinted his eyes. "Tony?" he murmured. "That's not Natasha."

Stark's face fell as he realized that the men coming toward them were not, in fact, SHIELD agents. He forced Barton down to the ground as the bullets started flying over their heads.

"This couldn't have been any better, huh Barton?"

Clint's glare sent Tony-for the first time-into silence.

* * *

**The last review button got a tummy ache from all of its binge eating from Chapter 1, so I got another one to take its place. This one's starving, and it even looks like you're pushing a button when you push it. No, really, click it and see ;)**

**See you all next Monday! :D**


	3. Three

**Aloha, my readermcjibberpeople. I just made up a word. **

**So, I want to tell you that I still FUDGING LOVE YOU guys because I have received another 55 alerts, 23 reviews, and 32 favorites for this story ^_^ I'm still in shock. I had to come out of my catatonic state just to post this chapter. I wasn't able to reply to you wonderful people because I've been busy (shocker), but please know that I value every word you say like a gold bar that I mold down to make my life size Hawkeye figure what? Who said that? Pshh...**

**Just so you know, FF has this new anonymous reviewing thing, so if you are nice and awesome, I shall accept your reviews is you don't have an account and are sneaky ninja like :D**

**One more chapter after this...the humor comes last, but in this we have -gasp- action! Hurrah! **

* * *

Clint moaned loudly as the gunshots fired in rapid succession over their heads, holding his head in his hands. Tony was trying to drag his suitcase over to their prone positions. He had to get at least part of the suit working, he had to protect Barton. Natasha would never forgive him if he got him killed. Under normal circumstances, he'd be able to protect himself, but Clint could barely stand, and his bow was lodged in a piece of technology at that particular moment. No, it was up to him. Because _that_ had always worked out fabulously.

"What are they doing here?" Clint groused. "They should've thought we were dead."

"Don't try to act as though you sent us over a cliff on purpose." Tony sneered. "They might have seen me retrieve my suit, or heard my whoop of joy. Maybe I am too loud for my own good."

Clint gave him a look that clearly said _you think_? "What do they want?" he asked, his words finally beginning to slur. Tony grimaced.

"Well, I don't think they want to join the Feather Friends."

Another bout of gunfire testified to Tony's statement. He cursed, grabbing a stick next to him and trying to hook it in the handle of the suitcase, but to no avail. He had to hurry. Clint was fading fast. Damn.

"Come on, Barton? Didn't you ever watch Nickelodeon drunk?"

"I have no...idea what you're talking about."

Tony scoffed half-heartedly. "You live under a rock."

"I'm a specialized agent." Clint heaved, pressing his aching head into the ground. "I don't have time for television."

"But you have time for sex?" Tony smirked.

"Not the time, Tony."

"Seriously, you don't have time for Spongebob? Weren't you born in Iowa?"

"I was busy." Clint coughed, rubbing his eye weakly.

"Sure…_busy_." Finally the stick stuck in the handle of the suit, and Stark pulled it close enough so he could grab it and bring it close. Clint let out a ragged cough, and just as he did, Tony heard a sound. It was small, hard to hear with the gunfire raging over them, and so, so hard to recognize, but he heard it. Tony had fixed way too many cars and watched way too many action movies to not know that sound. He looked warily over the fallen tree, and, sure enough, there is was. The crashed car, still smoking. Still ready to blow.

"Goddamnit."

Then suddenly, just like that; an idea. He smirked. Tony Stark wasn't a genius for nothing.

He took the open case and rammed his hands into the gloves. The machinery constructed around him, and he flipped onto his back, ramming the chest piece into place. The bottom half of the suitcase hung awkwardly from the chest piece, issuing a few sparks here and there. The helmet hooked around Tony's head, but the faceplate didn't come down. Tony didn't need those. He had everything he needed.

The men with the big mean guns were coming near. He could hear their footsteps. Tony glanced down at Clint, whose eyes were bloodshot and brimming with pained tears that would not fall. Tony huffed a breath.

"Stay down." He ordered Clint, and then whipped up, aiming a hand and firing a beam of energy right at the car.

If Barton couldn't hear anything in his right ear before, he sure as hell couldn't hear anything now. He rode waves of pain as the world shook around him, tainted red. His eardrums rang, vision blurred and lagging like a buffering computer video as he tried to sit up and ultimately failed. He saw something big and red like the ground fall back as fire laced the sky above him, where little things were zooming by. Clint reached up to touch one, enthralled, but whimpered as something hot touched his skin and burned it. He held his hand to his chest and rocked, trying to banish the pain from his body. He thought he heard someone yell, but it was dragged out. Screams, screams, screaming. Was that _him_ screaming?

Something was in front of him, kneeling down, saying something urgently. Clint didn't understand, his ears weren't working properly. It was a mix of human voices and bees buzzing in his head, and he couldn't place what Tony was saying to him. Tony, that was Tony! Clint blinked as Tony grabbed him arm, trying to focus on what Tony was saying. Something about eyes...and spoons...what about spoons? And Natasha, where was she? C-Coulson...

"Clint!" Tony screamed, taking the man in his armored arms. Clint blinked, eyes unseeing, one hand clutched against his chest and the other absentmindedly weakly protecting his intact ear. "Clint, look at me, we have to go." Iron Man shook his comrade slightly, and Barton's eyes locked on Tony's. He gulped, nodded a bit, but made no move to help Tony with his cargo. "Don't you want to see Romanoff again? When we get back to SHIELD, I'll get you whatever you want. Cap will run out and get us ice cream, or are you lactose intolerant? It doesn't matter. We'll go back to the Tower, get drunk and watch Disney movies, anything. But you're going to burn is we stay here, man."

Clint coughed a bit, seemingly unaware to the inferno burning behind them. His uneven eyes widened, and he raised a hand to point shakily in front of him. "S-Stark-"

Tony whipped around, keeping a hand firmly planted on Clint, and fired a beam of energy right through the surviving goon behind him, drilling a hole in the middle of _his_ chest that glowed in all the wrong ways. The man dropped to the ground, and Tony stood, hoisting Clint up beside him and keeping him upright. Stark let out a roar of pain when his wrist shifted inside the suit, but he limped around the fire the best he could. Clint did his best not to be complete dead weight, but Tony could have cared less, because he was doing nearly all of the work, anyway. Screw money, he wanted free ice cream forever for this shit. And a puppy.

Another smaller explosion from the car sent Tony down onto his knees, and Clint slipped. Tony dared to look up the steep slope that had become his enemy, and cussed many times out loud. Clint joined him in his sharing of expletives, mainly because he hurt everywhere, he didn't know where Natasha was, and his ears were still freaking _ringing_, but he knew the bleakness of their situation. He couldn't climb that slope, and neither could Tony. Realizing what needed to be done, Clint fell forward onto the ground and stayed there, coughing as he looked up to the top of the hill with expectancy. Tony kneeled down beside him and grabbed his arm, angry.

"Barton!" He snapped. "What the hell are you doing, we need to get up there! I thought you were in this with me, you little bastard!"

Clint just smiled weakly at Tony, closing his eyes for a moment before nodding his head to the top of the hill. He cleared his throat, tightened a grip around Tony's metal arm, and yelled at the top of his aching lungs. "Tasha!"

Almost immediately, a redheaded figure launched itself over the cliff and flipped down the rocks, reaching the two downed men in record time. A few SHIELD agents followed a tad more slowly. One was speaking urgently into a comm. Natasha knelt down on the other side of Clint and cupped the side of his face, the tips of her fingers grazing his soaked-through makeshift bandage. He wheezed out a laugh, and Tony gaped at the two of them.

"Howdy boys." Natasha said, no humor or any emotion except for cold concern and determination on her face. "Looks like you two had a party."

Clint didn't even wince as Natasha probed at Tony's impromptu nursing job, just sunk his canine ever-so-slightly into his tongue, which of course, she caught. Tony couldn't close his jaw, which was getting comfortable on the ground. "Whoa, whoa, whoa." He held one hand up, because the other hurt like shit. "I've been screaming my ass off down here, trying to get you to come down and save the freaking day for like hours, and Legolas only has to bellow once and you're suddenly here?"

Natasha glared at him for a split second before looking down at Clint again, hooking her arms under one of his and gesturing Tony to do the same. They draped Clint over their shoulders, helping him up the rocks, closer to the agents. Tony had to go slow, and he could tell it was annoying the shit out of Romanoff. Oh well. "I came as fast as I could, Stark. It's only been fifteen minutes. It was purely a coincidence."

"Coincidence my ass." Tony growled, and then groaned as his leg gave out, sinking down onto a rock. Clint sighed, following him. Natasha cursed and called on an agent to jump down and help her with Clint. Showed Tony where _her_ priorities were. As if he didn't already know. He leaned back on the rocks, closing his eyes and just breathing. If it wasn't for his suit, he wouldn't be able to hear. Or breathe. Or live. He tentatively touched the burn on his cheek and hissed.

"God, oh goddamnit, oh Jesus Christ." Tony moaned.

"My mother would slap you." A voice chuckled above him, and Tony squinted open his eyes to look at the monstrosity above him. Steve reached down and offered Stark his hand, which he took with his good hand, allowing Rogers to lift him up. "You look like hell, Stark."

"Says the talking parade float." Tony grumbled, irritated but secretly relieved as Steve supported him and they climbed the slope together. Normally, Tony would be horribly grossed out if anyone violated his personal space other than Pepper, but somehow, in his haze of pain that had seemed to increase ever since his responsibility of Clint had been taken away, he didn't give a damn. That was probably how Barton felt, too. "How'd you get here, Capsicle? I thought you were in...wherever."

Steve shrugged, not looking at Tony as he helped his teammate to the top of the rocky hill. "Heard about the ambush. Took one of SHIELD's...modern motorcycles."

"Did you crash it?"

"...Yeah."

"Smooth, Rogers." Tony sighed, realizing that even though they had finally reached the zenith of the stupid hill, they still had to go down the other side to get to the cars.

Seeing the distaste on Tony's face, Steve breathed out a laugh and turned Tony a slightly different direction. "We'll go down the easy way, Stark. You did okay today."

"Oh, goody." Tony spat out sarcastically. "Maybe Fury will give me a day off. I only saved Hawkeye's life, for crying out loud."

"He's still hurt pretty badly." Steve thought out loud. "But he'd probably be dead if he was alone. I suppose some of the credit can go to you."

"All of the credit should go to me." Tony growled as he tripped over a rock. "Stupid mission."

"Your arrogance is amazing, Tony." Steve mumbled. "I can get annoyed at you for it tomorrow. Let's get you patched up first."

"Rightio."

Suddenly there was a scream, and both of the Avengers could easily detect that it was Natasha's. Natasha had many screams, all of which their rag-tag team had become unfortunately familiar with. There was her rage-filled scream, which Tony was afraid of, her happy scream, which he had heard only a few selective times, her actress scream, which any sane person with at least a few of their morals intact would believe, her fear-filled-nearly-overflowing scream, which Tony had only heard once, and her lower-pitched, horrible scream of frustration. It was the last of this litany that the two men heard as it pierced their eardrums, and immediately froze next to the truck they had reached. Tony blinked and peered around the monster of a vehicle. Beyond the army of cars was a Natasha in what could only be described as a concern-fueled, fear laced all caps rage. Clint lay down on a bed, several SHIELD medics hovering over him as they tried to load him into the back of one of the cars. Natasha clung to him, and Tony would have solidified his suspicions if he wasn't so damn petrified with fear. Natasha flung her fisted hands onto Clint's chest in anger, but he knew that she would never hurt Clint intentionally, not when he was lying there, so eerily still...

Tony had yanked his arm from Steve's grasp and limped over to the gathering before the Captain in question could even ask what was going on. Clint's eyes were fluttering as if he couldn't see anything, and he was trying to fight to stay conscious. Tony pushed people aside so that he could stand by Barton and at the same time let the medics do their work. Natasha held his hand like his life depended on it, determined to give him an anchor as his reality failed. Tony wasn't one to question it. There were many times Jarvis had reported to him that Clint snuck into Natasha's room numerous times during the times they stayed at the Tower, trembling and muttering under his breath. He had no right to judge a man on his inner demons coming to haunt him. God knew Tony had enough of those on his own.

Just like that, Tony realized something horribly important; he was an asshole.

He had not tried to get to know Barton farther than an alliance, a comradeship, a fellow superhero's natural trust and wariness rolled into one spicy piece of messed up people sushi. Other than the little moments when Clint let things slip, an awkward minute waiting for Natasha and Pepper to emerge from the bathroom where they were powdering their noses or whatever shit women did in the bathroom, perhaps a spare drink once or twice because Tony had insisted it and nearly poured it down Barton's shirt, he had no experience with the man. He had no real friendship established with him. He made fun of him, he mocked Hawkeye because he thought it was all in good fun, and maybe underneath that stiff stick-up-his-ass mask, there was a person with a sense of humor. Sure, Clint had a sense of humor, more than Natasha did, anyway. Tony had figured that out in the last hour. Yet he didn't know whether Clint was a beer or a scotch man, didn't know if he liked Thai food, didn't know which side he was on in the ninja versus pirate altercation. He didn't know anything he should to be able to call Clint a friend.

Which was why, Tony decided, he couldn't die. Clint Barton wasn't allowed to die while Tony Stark thought himself a douchebag. No one messed with Tony's ego that way. It just wasn't allowed.

Oh, hey, Natasha was saying something.

"Tony, you have to fly him!" She growled, whacking him on the shoulder. "He has to get back to base, he needs a hospital!"

Tony shook his head, and for the first time since he first opened his eyes in that cave with a car battery attached to his heart, he felt completely and utterly helpless. He didn't like it. It didn't suit him. "My suit's jacked. We'll need to drive him." Then, trying for the humor that had long since become more of a defense mechanism than any piece of technology he could create, Tony spoke again. "Maybe we could ask Steve. He learned how to speed today."

"We don't have time." Natasha fretted. "We don't have time to get a helicopter, we don't have time, he doesn't have time..."

"Let me call up Hermione Granger, then, sweetums." The words slipped from Tony's mouth before he can register that they're brusque, and Natasha gave him a glare fierce enough to make Chuck Norris cry. Back-pedaling rapidly and tripping over his own stupidity, Tony remembered something Clint had said before. At this point the medics were rushing Clint away on something, and Stark realized that he had been lying on a stretcher, not a bed. Odd. Tony limped along, trying to keep up with Natasha and the medic team. Steve ran up, finally in the loop. "We're only, like, thirty minutes out from Fury's secret bunker base thing with all this shit around, fifteen if one of us is driving. Screw order, he needs help now."

Barton moaned, but the end of it rose so that he was nearly whimpering. Natasha's hand immediately went to Barton's hair, stroking it once before blinking at Tony. "You're right, Stark." She said as if it genuinely pained her. She looked down at Clint. "Hold on for me, Clint." She then practically bared her teeth at the SHIELD makeshift EMTs and pushed her partner up and into the back of one of the trucks, closing the doors and swinging around to the front. Before either Tony or Steve could raise their voices in protest the Black Widow had started the truck and screeched out of the road, narrowly missing many of SHIELD's cars and speeding down back toward the base. The two men blinked, and the car was gone.

"Damn." One of the Avengers' voices marveled. And it wasn't even Tony.

* * *

**Oh, Steve. You're so old. **

**I've got the review button here, and it's hungry...starving. In fact, it just ate a bit of the next chapter, oh dear...**


	4. Four

**Heyy. Hey-eh-eyyy.**

**If you sung Hey Soul Sister in your head whilst reading that you are my new best friend.**

**So, I'm updating a little late, but I had to finish the chapter today and I've been at volleyball camp all day, which is basically an intense workout baked in an oven of intensity glazed with pain. But, I'm updating, so let's hear everyone say "yaaaayyyy".**

**Thanks and such go at the bottom, because I love you, this chapter is a stupid and bad conclusion to the story that is done...eh. :P**

* * *

When Clint reached a state barely remotely close to awareness, he groaned, immediately feeling one thing and nothing else. The horrible, mind-clouding numbness that came with drugs. Drugs to take away pain. Pain that had made him pass out. Great.

He focused on peeling open his eyes, a stab of agony jutting through his eyeballs despite the IV he was undoubtedly hooked up to. He couldn't feel this numb and not be in the hospital. The doctors just loved to fill him up with enough shit so he couldn't stand without seeing the world swirl around in pretty colors. The artificial light above him stabbed down on his eyes, and he turned sideways, moaning once more as he shifted onto his side. A dull ache in his head began to accompany the deadened feeling, and Clint blinked hard, blurry eyes focusing on something on his bed, next to his thigh that was covered by a thin blanket and a just as equally thin hospital gown. They were shoes. Fancy shoes, attached to legs with fancy pants. Attached to a man that liked to believe he was fancy. Shit part was that he _was_ fancy, he was just a jerk about it.

Tony Stark didn't look up from the _Time_ magazine with him and Pepper on the front when he spoke, and Clint registered the fact that the man was wearing his Aviators indoors. Again. "Good midnight, Clinton."

"S-Stark." Clint croaked, swallowing in an attempt to soothe his raw throat. His hand found the nasal cannula on his face, and he crossed his eyes to look at it, immediately regretting this decision greatly. "W-What-"

"They took that god-awful respirator out of you a few hours ago, saying that you were finally beginning to breathe again and that you would wake up any minute. Guess you didn't really get the memo." Tony spared one glance at Clint over his glasses before looking back to his read, blatantly flashing the manilla folder he was really reading out from behind the magazine. "Did you know that your middle name is Francis? It really is fascinating."

"How long?" Clint's voice grated, and he reached for the glass of water on his bedside table, taking it with shaky fingers. He barely got it into his mouth, some of it dribbling down the front of his gown as he struggled to sit up. Tony made no move to help him, and for once, Clint wasn't mad at him for something he did. He was glad, relieved. Tony knew that he didn't want to be helpless.

"Oh, I'd say about...five days, give or take a day."

"_What_?" Clint choked out the rest of the water he was trying to swallow.

"Don't strain yourself, Feathers, don't want you to have an aneurysm or something." Tony mumbled, pulling his lips up in something mixed between a smirk and a grimace. "Natasha was devastated. Barely slept. Didn't eat. It was like something out a soap opera. She's going to be pissed that you woke up when she was on a pre-dawn shower run. She was totally hoping for a gushy reunion with lots of tongue."

Of course Barton knew this wasn't true, but he did his best to glare at Stark anyway. Tony flashed him a cheeky smile. "The flowers are from me, by the way. Heard you liked dahlias."

"Bullshit." Clint coughed out. Tony scoffed.

"Okay, yeah, Banner likes dahlias." He rolled his eyes. "And he got them _for_ me, but it was with my money, so it still counts."

"How did you let me sleep for five days?" Clint growled, pressing a palm to his forehead.

"Well, see, it wasn't really our choice, Francis. Comas are tricky little shits. I wasn't really here the whole time, I stopped in a few times with food for Romanoff. Speaking of, your sexy little Soviet will be back any minute now, and you can ask her questions while I sneak out the door and collect my ten dollars from some of the newbies."

"Wha-" Clint shook his head. "You bet on whether I was going to wake up from a freaking _coma?_" His voice ached from not using it, but he continued, his raw vocal chords making his voice sound like that of a pissed off drunk grizzly bear. "As soon as I get out of here, Stark, you are so totally on the top of my kill list."

"Ooh, scary." Tony mused, raising his eyebrows at something he was reading. "Really. You got shot in the ass in '05? Can I see it?"

For the first time Clint realized the horrible pain in his head, and the fact that there was a terrible draft on the right side of it. His hand instinctively snapped up to his cranium, a look of anger and shock taking over his features as he found a large amount of gauze wrapped tightly around his head, and worst of all, an obvious arching hairline just above his right temple.

"They shaved part of my head?" Clint cried, incredulous. Of course, in his current state, it seemed more like a growling mewl than a threatening shout.

Tony looked up. "Oh, yeah." He replied, seemingly unconcerned. He reached behind him and produced a small Zip-lock baggie. "I kept some of it."

"You-what-" Clint was lost for words, and for the first time in a long time he wished unconsciousness would come to him. He pressed a finger lightly to the side of his head that was covered in gauze, and instantly fell back, white pain blinding his eyes. He didn't pass out though. Pity.

Tony grabbed his arm. "Whoa, whoa, don't do that, tiger. You got shot there, remember?"

"Not really." Clint moaned, throwing an elbow over his eyes and wondering what he did to deserve torture by Tony Stark. Of course, he knew, but this seemed so, so much worse.

"Oh. well that's unfortunate." Stark mused, leaning back again and snapping up Clint's medical records like a newspaper. "We had a grand ole time."

The '_sure we did, Stark_' was lost in the air as Clint opened his mouth, and nothing spilled out. He shook his head, pinching a point on his arm in attempts to clear his foggy head. Really, all he wanted was for Natasha to come and take him away from the dreaded white, sterile hell, but it seemed like he was stuck there, with _Time Magazine's_ Most Admired Douchecanoe as his guard. And then there was the fact that he didn't think he could really run more than a step and a half.

"Of course, I'm expecting a medal for this," Stark rambled on, still wearing those _damn sunglasses_ that he wouldn't take off, and Clint was two seconds away from ripping them off Stark's bearded little face. "I told Fury that he didn't need to bother with the Medal of Honor, just something shiny would do. Oh, and I demanded a puppy. For both of us, actually, two separate puppies. I don't want to share a puppy with you, Barton, I have a feeling your sharing skills weren't very honed in assassin kindergarten. I thought that you'd want something tough, like a pitbull, or a rottweiler, or something. I decided on the pitbull, it was small but smart and mean, kind of like you."

Clint's head spun, and he was still stuck on the sunglasses and the fact that Tony thought he needed _another_ shiny thing to add onto his person. Tony kept talking, eyes not wavering from their spot on Clint's medical file.

"Well, for me, I felt like I really wanted a puppy of some sort, because puppies are just so damn adorable that their irresistible. That's when I got the idea for a puppy sidekick, you know, for crime fighting? It could have its own suit and everything, and it would be perfect, since I hate kids, and who wouldn't look into the puppy eyes and surrender? Don't answer that. Pepper really likes chihuahuas for some reason, ever since we went to this place in Malibu and this woman had one...well, I guess it was a little cute. It was tiny, though...had an attitude. Looked like it could hold its own. Maybe not against a pitbull, but if I just held it up in front of Thor when he got mad, we'd have no more problems! Well, besides the whole 'Other Guy' thing Bruce has got going on, but I doubt that can be fixed with a puppy. I thought about it, but he's pretty fond of that cactus I got him for Arbor Day, and you don't even need to water it!"

Clint bit his lip, staring at Tony. The Stark in question flashed the injured man a white smile, and Barton just blinked heavily.

"...You want an Iron Dog?"

"Yes!" Tony jumped a bit, grinning from ear to ear. "The Iron Dog, Iron Man's best friend and trusty companion! Oh, the press will love this, it'll be great for the kids. Hey, JARVIS, mark that in my important list, would you?"

"_Right away, Mr. Stark, right alongside the U.N.'s nuclear negotiations and that issue you spoke of in Canada."_

"Oh, right." Tony's face fell, his voice taking on a tone of clear distaste. "Canada."

"You put JARVIS in here?" Clint asked, looking around. "In the hospital?"

"I had JARVIS installed in all of Fury's hideouts." Tony shrugged it off like installing an advanced supercomputer capable of sarcasm into severely secured databases was eating waffles on Sunday morning. "And this isn't a hospital, buddy boy. Sorry to burst your stoned little bubble, but this is just a clinic we set up in the corner of a weapons base. The infirmary was full, shocker, but Red, White, and Boring wanted you to be treated right and wake up in a comfortable environment. I don't think it's all that comfortable, to be honest."

Now that Tony mentioned it, Clint could hear the _whirrrrr_ of a huge power drill of some sort going off in the distance. He rubbed a hand up his face and around the uninjured side of his head. "Where's Natasha?"

"Stalin will be here any minute." Tony mumbled, returning to Clint's file. "You know, this thing doesn't tell me much at all. Coulson really kept you guys private. Eh, I'll just hack into Fury's databases later. This stuff is better than a King book."

Seeing Clint's blank face, Stark sighed. "I'm not even going to try anymore. I doubt you've even heard of _The Mist. _Probably a good thing. The movie's ending was terrible."

With a quiet knock, Steve entered the makeshift room, pulling back a white curtain Clint could have totally sworn was a wall. "Hey." Steve greeted softly, turning to Clint. "You're awake. How're you doing?"

Before Barton could respond, Tony jumped on Steve like he was fresh meat in a shark pool. "Ooh, Cap! Have _you_ ever read Stephen King?" Steve stared at him, and Tony frowned, his eyebrows furrowing beneath the glasses. "Oh, that's right. You're old."

Steve pulled his lips to one side. "I didn't know you read, Stark."

Clint couldn't help but laugh at that, holding his sides as Tony recoiled, acting like Steve had kicked his nonexistent puppy sidekick. "I _read_!" He scoffed, turning down at the folder and burying his head in it, muttering to himself. "I'm a genius."

Steve ignored him and placed a gentle hand on the edge of Clint's bed, looking at him as if assessing his injuries and the probability Clint would fall over if he stood up. Barton furrowed his brow at this and bit his lip slightly. This was the reason he didn't exactly like the Captain. He respected him, yes, undoubtedly. They got along, and Clint didn't think Rogers was bad, actually, that was probably the reason he wasn't buddy-buddy with him. Steve, outside of war, away from battle, where his responsibility tethered him to the soldier he had to be, was soft. He was _good_.

Maybe Clint was just a little envious.

"You." Tony pointed sharply at Steve, bringing Clint out of his life-pondering thoughts. It must have been the meds. Yeah, that was it. "You would have a golden retriever."

Steve looked at Tony like he was insane, which, granted, was justifiable. He glanced from Tony to Clint, who just smirked back at the super soldier. Rogers flashed his vision back to Stark, who was smiling like an idiot. He gaped. "...What?"

"A golden retriever!" Tony clapped his hands together. "JARVIS, write that down too. Banner, Banner...he should have a german shepard, or a chow chow. We can get Romanoff a bull terrier, or a sea monster, or something."

"She likes...greyhounds." Clint yawned. "I think...she said that once."

"Typical." Tony muttered. "But-oh, we can enhance it genetically or something, so it'd win every race Romanoff would put it in to scam her targets and then off them. Oh, but ew, those races are horrible. Never mind."

Steve and Clint rightfully just ignored Tony, Clint riding little waves of euphoria, then pain. Steve looked down at Barton again.

"Thor is coming." He mumbled, pulling up a plastic chair and sitting on it. "Coming from Asgard. We sent him a message on...something, I really don't understand it."

"Rogers, you don't understand spray cheese. Or DVD players. You broke my PS3."

"_Anyway_," Steve continued, ignoring Tony's jibe once again. "He said, I think, Bruce and Eric really took over, uh, he said that 'he did not want his comrade to suffer and that he would bring Clint Barton gifts'." Steve made a face. "I'm not sure what kind of gifts they have in Asgard, but I don't think you'll be getting a Get Well Puppy."

"Puppy!" Tony cheered. "Puppy, puppy!"

"He doesn't need to do that." Clint moaned. "Thor doesn't need to come down here. He's visiting his family or whatever, and...I don't even know how he _gets_ here, honestly."

"Guys, guys." Tony froze his hands. "Better idea. We get Romanoff a _cat_, right? Cause-cause she's a girl, isn't she, and if we all get dogs, she can have this kickass cat, like an assassin Sassy or something. Crap, you guys didn't have a childhood. Forgot you haven't seen _Homeward Bound_. You miss out on everything."

"...Do you want me to get Natasha?" Steve asked Clint. "I'll tell her you're awake and bring her down, make sure she doesn't destroy another garage or something."

"Yeah." Clint grumbled. "Yeah, for her sake, I guess."

"Okay." Steve stood calmly, making his way toward the door. "Oh, and Clint? Thanks for not getting shot in the brain."

Barton smirked and shrugged, wincing at the achy pain. "I try."

"He's Voldemort."

Steve left the room, and for a good solid six minutes (it was a record. Be proud.) all was silent as Clint stared up at the ceiling and Tony resorted to actually reading the magazine he brought. Barton squirmed in his bed, rubbing a hand down his face and letting out a groan.

"Yeah, hm, okay, Barton? I know you got shot and stuff, but I'm so bored."

"Yeah, Stark, I know you're a dick and stuff, but I'm starving."

Tony strained his ears and heard the grumble of Clint's tummy, smirking. "I thought they shot you full of morphine and drained liquid nutrition into your veins."

"Yeah, well, I want a Big Mac."

"I can do better." Tony scoffed. He jumped up onto his feet, swinging his arms around. "Alright, get up. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"What about Natasha?" Clint moaned, but he sat up, shook away the vertigo, and unplugged all of the machines attached to him. Tony threw him a pair of pants and one of Stark's own muscle shirts. Clint didn't even protest as he put them on. Tony didn't offer Clint a hand to stand, and he didn't ask for one. They walked slowly from the room.

"Neither Romanoff nor Fury's makeshift hospital staff will realize we've left. She can meet us in the garage she trashed. JARVIS, send a message to Romanoff and Stars and Stripes, will you? Plus, she won't be that mad. You have a pain tolerance of someone who can't die, a stubborn streak the size of Indiana, and an escort with connections. You've got a free pass since you went ouchie, I've got a limo. You've got to get a hamburger, I've got to find myself a chihuahua. Let's make this happen."

Clint scoffed, actually smiling and shaking his head as he followed Tony down the hallway. It was probably the drugs still in him. Yeah, that was it.

"Fine, Stark." Clint chuckled huskily. "But you're driving this time."

"Hell no, buddy. Have you seen me drive?

* * *

**Hurrah, it's finished! (Or IS IT? Yeah, it is.)**

**I's like to thank my reviewer Meowse for the idea for the "Iron Dog". It was a stroke of genius, and it drove me to actually write a final chapter for you guys. Truly.**

**I'd also love to thank EVERYONE who either _1)._ Reviewed, because you are so amazing that like, the northern lights look up to your amazingness, _2)._ Favorited or subscribed, because you make me feel all happy inside, and _3). _Anyone and everyone who has shown interest in my stories or my writing. You guys have no clue how every little word you write to me and every joke of mine you laugh at makes my heart smile. It's crazy. I mean, without you guys, I tend to believe that I'm a talentless girl with a bad sense of humor. Thanks for everything. Thanks for being awesome.**

**On the "awesomeness" note, if you want to see the IRON DOG in actuality (meaning in cartoon form), I drew it for fun and posted it on my deviantART. My name over there is SongbirdofFrenzy! If you have an account, please comment so I can love you more.**

**Thanks for everything guys. I think I might write more in this fandom :) If you've got any cool ideas, don't hesitate to share :D Lovles and stuffles. When I say 'we are', you say 'cool!' WE ARE. (COOL!) GO US!**


End file.
